


Responsibilities

by flinchflower



Series: The 50kinkyways [44]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Outdoor Sex, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 42: Outdoor Sex.  John appears in parental, nonsexual context, hands out a little discipline to his eldest.  And then, Sam and Dean and Apology Sex. Need we say more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Responsibilities

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the characters originally so I could use them as a writing exercise, to see how close I could get the characterization. Then I was corrupted by porn. And kink. Here’s a side of kink. This is simply for practice, not publication or profit. I’m in the hole by about 30 grand, if you’d like to seize my debt as punishment. AU in that I refuse to admit the death of John Winchester.

They get some odd ones every once in a while, like the waldgeist in northern Michigan. That one sparked some of the more vicious arguments John had heard between his sons.

“I don’t fucking care! A waldgeist is a protective spirit, and we don’t mess with crap like that, Dean!”

“And how many times have we found that a spirit isn’t what it should be? We’re going, Sam, deal with it!”

Sam sneers at Dean. “You’ll want some better boots then, that’s a lot of hiking, you fucking pussy.”

John got up from the table just as Dean made a snarling lunge for Sam. He swatted his twenty-seven year old son on the ass a couple times, and moved on to stand in front of his youngest boy.

“Sam. Language.” The kid is flushed, aware he’s screwed up, waiting for his Dad to haul him out of the chair and make the same point he had to Dean. “You go and I want to see your camping gear – all of it – yours and Dean’s – get it in here and spread out. You boys have gotten sloppy with your equipment lately.” John doesn’t like the smirk on Sam’s face as the kid hauls the gear into the cabin. It takes him a couple trips, and by the last one, John’s frowning. Dean attempts to sidle out of the room. “Oh, no, son. I want Sam’s gear spread out on this side of the room, you do the same over there. Leave anything you share in the center.” Sam picks up a well made hiking pack, and that’s it – the rest of the mess is apparently Dean’s. Both boys lay out their things in the order John drilled into them as children. Dean is looking embarrassed, not meeting John’s eyes. As well he should – his gear’s in sorry shape.

“Aw, Dad, we don’t camp very often, I hate to spend the money to-“ He’s interrupted by a distinct snicker from Sam.

“Sam, how did you come by what you’ve got?”

“Bought a piece on each hunt until I replaced… replaced what I lost in the fire.” His son’s voice is quiet. “I’m sorry I’m shy on the MRE’s, haven’t been to a PX in a while.” The boy’s face is closed off, remote, now.

“Sam, leave yours there as an example. Dean, take out anything of yours that’s substandard, and we’ll be having words if I disagree on any of it. Come with me, Sam.”

Sam quietly follows his father into the back bedroom.

“Have a seat, Sam.” John sits next to his youngest, wraps an arm around him. Sam stiffens for a minute, then leans into his dad. His breath hitches, and John puts his face close to Sam’s, whispers to him. “Let it go, son. I know you try not to talk about it with Dean. But me, I know where you’re at, boy.”

“Dad… I miss her… and Dean, I feel guilty-“

John shushes the boy. “No, Sammy. Don’t feel guilty. The fact you love him – that’s what matters.”

Sam’s tears are dying a natural death, so he takes a deep breath, considering. “Dean in trouble?”

John chuckles. “You betcha.” His son waits with a hopeful look, and John reaches behind him, swats once at Sam’s behind. “Behave. I’m gonna make him haul his gear out of the Impala so I can go over it, so you best hope that you’re not in a world of hurt for anything in there.”

Sam grins. “Dirty laundry?”

John chuckles and winks at his youngest as he stands up. "Only if it's ready to stand up and walk out of the bag on its own."

An hour later, and the eldest Winchester is not pleased. Over half of Dean’s gear is either out and out missing, or is non-functioning to the point of needing replacing. Another quarter of it isn’t quite up to John’s standards. But John Winchester has his own reserves, the truck holds a lot of shit, and he’s able to make up most of it from his own backups. He sighs.

“Well, with the three of us going out, it won’t matter, but once we get to a town, you’re replacing the rest, Dean. Sam, can you pop that tent in here? Big enough for both of you?”

“Yeah. Kinda cozy, Dad.”

John rolls his eyes. “I’ll pitch mine out of earshot then.” Both boys are startled, but then Drill Sergeant Dad puts in an appearance, and Dean’s unloading not just his camping gear, but everything out of the Impala – and John goes out to double check that it’s empty. He hadn’t realized just how frequently his son flies by the seat of his pants. Sam’s willing enough to point out what he’s cared for, and take a scolding or two, and he hides a grin when John takes Dean out back behind the woodshed for a talking to. It’s more dressing down than hand to backside action though, aside from the moments where Dean makes the mistake of giving him attitude. John feels like ten years have vanished, and Dean’s seventeen again through most of it.

They pack all the crap back into the cars, and take off into the woods for where the waldgeist is situated – only to find out after a three day hike that yet again, human evil is at root. John reports things to the local sheriff, and they make camp for the night a couple miles out, too tired to make it back to the cabin.

Dean turns to the younger boy, in the confines of the tiny backpacking tent. The quarters don’t seem so close, since they’ve left the rainfly off, and there’s a panel of mesh on the ceiling that allows them to see the sky.

“I’m sorry if Dad yelled at you because of me.” Sam can tell from his tone that this has been eating at his older brother. He presses in a kiss, murmuring to him that there was no yelling involved. The realization of what Sam’s red eyes were all about hits Dean like a brick, and he’s angry with himself for reminding the boy of his grief. A few minutes soft breathing puts the feeling in its place, and he rolls over, straddling Sam, stroking his hair, slipping his tongue between the younger boy’s lips.

The night is quiet, it’s late summer, and there’s an abundance of crickets chirping in the nearby meadow, the rustle of the wind through the pines. Occasionally, they can hear the cry of a coyote or a wolf, which makes Sam shiver inadvertently, remembering werewolf hunts, which never go easily for the Winchesters for some reason. His trembling is stilled by Dean’s skillful hands, stroking his long sides, his thighs, his cock. Their lovemaking is quiet, slow, and Sam offers up a prayer of thanks for that. Dean’s not a quiet or slow person by any means, and they do enjoy their play.

Dean’s kisses are… hot, and smoldering, passionate in a way he’s never experienced before, Sam feels something he usually keeps locked away break loose, and his long arms circle his lover, pull him in closer. He savors the feeling of Dean’s hot cock on the inside of his thigh, and whispers his need to the older boy. Dean just holds him closer for a minute, and then there’s the soft, slick touch of lube, lube that Dean’s warmed up in his hand before touching Sam with it, and his fingers are sneaking up into Sam, surprising breathy moans out of the boy, and yearning kisses.

Dean is almost too slow for Sam’s pleasure, slipping his own hardened cock inside that tight wet heat nearly steals his consciousness from him, but he breathes hard and deep, thrusts more slowly. Sam is quivering from head to foot, Dean’s name a cry that Sam doesn’t have air enough to make more than a whisper. Dean’s brushing over Sam’s prostate, rocking gently in a curious motion that sweeps the turgid head over and over the nerves, and Sam is exploding beneath him – Dean can taste the salty-sweet come in his own mouth, arced high from the intensity of the boy’s orgasm. He isn’t able to hold out much longer, and his own release comes as he collapses onto Sam’s broad chest, feeling the curious sensation of Sam’s hand stroking up his back with every spurt of come that fires into the young man. He lies atop the boy, breathing hard, and when he glances up, Sam’s eyes are dreamy, looking up at the sky.

Dean turns his own head, tightens his arms around his lover, because there are a million stars up in the sky, and he can’t tell them apart from the sparkles of ecstasy still swimming in his own eyes, the shine from Sam’s eyes nearly blinding him.


End file.
